Memories in a bottle
by Xavier Phoenix
Summary: "Things are not always as they seem Harry. In the case of your past, that is most certainly true."
1. The Scoop

I don't own the Harry Potter Universe.

The drinks were never good here, she mused, swirling the ice cubes around in her glass. Of course that was to be expected when one chose to frequent the Hog's Head, a pub famed for its lack of cleanliness and customer service. For all the times she had been here, not once could she remember the Barman showing any ounce of politeness towards her, or any of the other customers for that matter. Most sensible people steered well clear of the dingy tavern, opting instead for Madam Rosemerta's more upmarket establishment.

In fact the only reason for the pub's continued existence was its clientele. Lowlifes and petty criminals, who used the place to carry out unlawful deeds and black market exchanges away from the prying eyes of the ministry. Of course, she was not here to take part in such activities. If she had a choice, she would much rather be basking in the warmth of the Three Broomsticks with a cocktail to hand. As it was, she had found the Hog's Head to be a most useful source of information throughout her career, and it seemed as though today was no exception.

A cool breeze swept through the pub as the door opened. She pulled her hood lower, covering her face, and gave a start of recognition as Severus Snape walked into the pub.

Snape too wore a hooded cloak, but the hook shaped nose was unmistakable. He hovered for a moment, eyeing everyone in the bar carefully, before settling down at a table close to hers.

For a few minutes Snape waited, seemingly contemplating the menu on the table. Then, a second man, who had been leaning by the bar, walked slowly towards him, and sat down at the table. He moved with such discretion, that most people in the pub did not even notice the action.

As the two men began to talk, she leaned forward and strained her ears to listen over the din of noise in the pub.

"What news Severus?"

"Not much Lupin, I'll keep it short. There's a leak within the ministry. One of their workers has been talking to the Dark Lord, whether by force or voluntarily, I do not know."

"Any names?"

"Trowoski I think, I couldn't catch his first name"

"Any reason why Lord Voldemort would want him?"

"Not to my knowledge. He didn't share what Trowoski said with the rest of us. I think he suspects a traitor in the camp. Nevertheless, he was happy with the news. Disturbingly happy. It makes me think that whatever Trowoski told him was of great importance."

"Something he might try to use to his advantage?"

"Possibly. Anyway, I need to get back, the Dark Lord has organised a spot of muggle "entertainment" for us and my absence is already likely to have been noticed. Relay the information at the meeting tonight."

Both men rose, "Take care of yourself Severus" said Lupin looking at Snape with concern. The potions master nodded curtly and swept from the room into the rapidly darkening alleyway outside. Lupin waited for a moment before following.

She waited for Snape and Lupin to disappear down the alleyway, before walking outside. The evening breeze ruffled her hair as she turned on the spot, and disapparated with a crack.

Luckily, the Ministry was fairly empty being so late in the evening, and she was able to navigate through the building without much trouble. Tracing the familiar steps, she found herself standing outside a room she had used many times before, situated deep within the lower levels of the building. She glanced down each of the corridors beside her before opening the door. The room itself had been commissioned under the wizarding equivalent of what the muggles referred to as the Freedom of Information Act. It contained many documents available to the public, including the large tome in her hands, listing the details of all Ministry employees. She thumbed through all the pages in the book, but found only one name matching that given by Snape.

Trowoski, Peter – Adoption Services, Floor 18.

Wondering what possible information an adoption worker could have that would interest the most notorious murderer in wizarding history, she made her way out of the room and headed for the lifts at the end of the corridor.

She punched the small button labelled 18, and waited as the lift made its way upwards with a shuddering motion. The small red numbers above the lift doors indicated that she had reached floor 12 when the doors opened.

A guard on night duty entered casually and leant against one side as the lift continued on upwards. He glanced sideways, giving her an appraising look.

"Bit late to be wandering around here Miss."

She rolled her eyes and produced a card from inside her robes.

"I'm here on work business, as you can see from this," she said brandishing the card, "I have authorised access to ministry departments."

The guard looked at her card and recognising her name, grunted in approval.

"All right, just make sure you check in properly with reception next time."

It was lucky perhaps, that the doors opened to Floor 18 at that moment, stopping a remark that would surely have landed her in trouble. Instead, she contented herself with a cheery wave back at him which quickly turned into a rude gesture as the doors closed.

The walls of floor 18 were adorned with hundreds of colourful pictures and decorations, no doubt in an effort to provide a 'family friendly' atmosphere for the many hopeful parents looking to adopt a new son or daughter.

She swiftly made her way, through each of the small cubicles lining the floor until she found the one she was looking for. The letters on the outside wall which spelt out PETER TROWOSKI, were faded and peeling, indicating that the man had occupied this area for quite some time.

With great care, she began to scrutinise every single item or document that had been crammed into the tiny office, hoping to find some clue as to why Lord Voldemort had been so interested in what this man had to say. In one of the desk drawers, she found an empty sheet of parchment, which she was about to discard, when she noticed how fragile and delicate it looked. Faded and ripped at the corners, this parchment must have been at least 10 years old, and she knew no self respecting ministry employee would bother keeping it, when they received fresh parchment on a daily basis.

No, there was surely something significant within this parchment, probably concealed with some kind of security charm.

She tapped the parchment with her wand.

The words _Confirm Password_ rippled across the page in shiny black letters.

Cursing under her breath, she looked around the cubicle, hoping for some kind of inspiration and caught sight of a brightly coloured birthday card tacked to the opposite wall.

Of course, parents were so easy to predict.

She flipped the card over and saw the scribble of handwriting _To Daddy Love Jane_

Tracing the letters J A N E, she felt a jolt of satisfaction as a number of black lines appeared on the page, and joined together to form words.

The excitement that had been building inside her vanished when she saw what the paper had revealed. There was nothing here which remotely suggested to her as out of the usual, not at least anything that would gain the Dark Lord's attention, just a record of children and next to it the names of the parents who had adopted them.

She was almost ready to give up and go home, when she caught sight of the last name on the list.

_18) Harry James Potter- Date of Birth: 31 July 1980 _

The shock that that hit her was overwhelming, but not nearly as much as that which registered when she read the name beside his.

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

A wide smile graced her features as she placed the document within her crocodile skin purse.

Rita Skeeter had her story at last.


	2. An Orderly Mess

A/N: I apologise for the shortness of this chapter...Actually I apologise for the lack of chapters in general, but hopefully time will be kinder to me in the future.

* * *

The weekly meeting was always a noisy affair. Every order member was adamant on having their say and discussions very quickly became explosive arguments as people tried to advocate their own strategies and ideas for the underground movement. Having suffered through several minutes of a particularly heated debate between Minerva McGonagall and Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore had had enough and bellowed a rather sharp "Silence!" to bring the room back to order.

"Valid points have been made by all, but I fear we are digressing from tonight's agenda. Kingsley, Nymphadora...have there been any developments regarding Lord Voldemort's proposed infiltration of the Ministry?"

Shacklebolt straightened up on being addressed by the Headmaster, and spoke in a deep voice.

"Not that we are aware of. We've been watching the newer recruits particularly closely, and there have been no signs of suspicious activity." To his left, Tonks nodded her agreement.

"Headmaster if I may interrupt?"

Dumbledore looked up to see Lupin leaning forward across the table.

"Certainly Remus."

"I managed to meet briefly with Severus today and he happened to mention that a ministry worker has in fact been leaking information to Lord Voldemort."

Kingsley looked slightly put out by this news, but Dumbledore's attention was focused solely on the Werewolf.

"I see. Do we know what sort of information has been leaked?"

"No Sir, the only thing we have at the moment is a name, Trowoski and he...Albus?"

Every head turned towards Dumbledore, and they were startled to see that the headmaster had become a deathly pale.

"Trowoski?" he said faintly, "...Peter Trowoski?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," replied Lupin frowning slightly, "I take it you are familiar with this person?"

At that moment, Alistair Moody came limping into the room.

"I don't think there's any need to explain Albus," he said brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet, "It seems as though Rita Skeeter has done that for you. This came off the press an hour ago."

Even from his position at the table Dumbledore could read the headline.

He buried his face in his hands.

* * *

The first rays of sunlight were spilling into the Gryffindor dormitory as Harry Potter stirred from sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he gave a huge yawn, and very reluctantly rolled out from under the warmth of his heavy duvet.

Under any other circumstances, he would have been soundly asleep at this hour, along with the rest of the boys in his dorm. However, the new Quidditch season was starting in less than a week and Angelina Johnson had insisted upon daily training sessions at 6.30 in the morning to ensure that they were fully prepared for their upcoming match against Ravenclaw.

Scowling slightly at the clock, Harry finished changing, and made his way out towards the Quidditch pitch. The rest of the team were already in the changing rooms, and called out sleepy greetings as Harry shuffled through them and found an empty space of bench.

"Right team" said Angelina, "We've got four days until our first game so I think we ought to step it up a notch in training today. We'll start with 50 laps of the pitch, and then move onto some new manoeuvres I want to try out. Let's go."

The rest of the team grumbled quietly behind her, and Harry distinctively heard someone say "I've got a manoeuvre I'm going to try on her if she keeps this up."

Despite their grievances, the Gryffindor team soon woke up flying in the early morning breeze, and managed to produce one of their best training sessions of the pre-season. Harry was in a particularly buoyant mood as he walked up the grassy knoll towards the castle, until he spotted Hermione racing down the lawn towards him. One look at her stricken face told him something was wrong, and he quickened his pace towards her.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Oh Harry, I've been trying to find you all morning. I didn't realise you were training!" she said, coming skidding to a halt in front of him.

"Hermione, calm down" said Harry, alarmed by how panicked she looked, "what's the matter?"

"I don't know the best way to tell you this" she said now sounding slightly anxious, "Oh, it's probably best if you read it yourself." She thrust a copy of the morning's Prophet into his hands.

Harry looked at her confusedly, and unfurled the paper. For a moment he thought the lack of sleep was beginning to affect him, or else the Prophet had gotten away with a huge typing error, because he was surely reading the headline wrong.

_**HARRY POTTER ADOPTED BY DUMBLEDORE**_

_Sources close to the daily prophet have today revealed that Harry Potter, previously thought to have no family left in the wizarding world, is in fact the adopted son of Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. The revelation, which has taken the wizarding world by storm, was made late last night with the discovery of the official documentation detailing the Hogwarts Headmaster's legal guardianship of the Boy who Lived. See pages 2-4, for full story and exclusive pictures. _

"Well, this has got to be a mistake," said Harry looking up, "...right?" he added, seeing the uncertainty in his best friend's eyes.

Hermione was slow to respond. "Well, I mean he can't have...you know, adopted you, or anything. The entire notion of it is ridiculous, but you have to ask yourself why the Prophet would print something like this. I mean I know some of their articles in the past have been controversial, but this is serious stuff. They're setting themselves up for a possible lawsuit if you and Dumbledore took action, and I just don't understand why they would risk so much to print something which is false. I don't know Harry, I think you need to go and talk to Dumbledore."

"Right," he said looking over at two Hufflepuffs who were gawking as they passed, "better go before the gossip mill gets churning."

He stuffed the Prophet into his back pocket and made his way towards the great front doors. Students everywhere were beginning to point and stare as he passed, and he quickened his pace towards the Headmaster's office.

Not before long he found himself standing before the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office and, not for the first time in his life, realised that he had absolutely no idea of what the password might be.

"Err...Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans" he tried hopefully. To his utmost surprise, the gargoyle nodded and stepped aside, revealing the revolving staircase behind him.

_Well that was easy_ thought Harry, as he ascended towards Dumbledore's office. Stepping off the staircase, Harry suddenly felt a strange feeling of foreboding wash over him and hesitated as he reached for the brass knocker. He wasn't sure why exactly he had become so nervous, there was surely no truth to the rumours after all, and yet Hermione's earlier words still lingered in his head _"you have to ask yourself why the Prophet would print something like this?"_

Steeling himself, he knocked on the door, and hearing the familiar call of "enter" walked into the Headmaster's office.

* * *

The webmasters have decided to put up all these weird and wonderful graphs in my account showing how many people actually read my stories, but it does make a writer feel bad if there aren't nearly as many reviews...so be a pal and let me know what you think!


	3. Revelations

Fawkes gave a warm trill of welcome as Harry stepped into the office, closing the door behind him.

"...Ah...Harry, come in."

Dumbledore's gaze was fixed on the elegant purple quill clasped in his hands, and he gestured to the chair in front of the desk as he spoke. Harry smiled briefly at Fawkes, before taking the proffered seat.

He wondered whether it was a trick of his imagination, but Harry thought that Dumbledore's face looked whiter than usual. That, coupled with the fact that the Headmaster appeared to be avoiding his eyes, heightened his growing suspicion that something was not at all right.

"Professor, I wanted to talk to you about the article the Prophet printed this morning" said Harry, trying to discern the expression on the Headmaster's face.

Dumbledore sighed quietly, "Yes, I thought you would."

Harry stared at his Headmaster, there was definitely something wrong.

"Well," he continued, trying his best to ignore the elder man's behaviour, "they can't be allowed to get away with this sort of thing. It's all blatant lies."

Dumbledore remained silent, and Harry was beginning to get frustrated with his lack of response.

"_Professor?_"

Harry had a sudden desire to shake the Headmaster and snap him out of whatever was causing this strange behaviour, but just as these thoughts flitted through his head, Dumbledore looked up. His eyes were full of an anguish Harry had never seen before, and it shook the young Gryffindor.

"Harry, you must understand...I never wished for you to find out like this."

Harry felt a horrible sinking in the pit of his stomach.

"Find out what?" he said, his voice wavering slightly.

Dumbledore looked positively tortured now.

"...What they wrote in the article," he said hesitantly, "about my adoption of you...they were writing the truth."

Time seemed to come to a standstill. Harry ceased to hear the birds chirping outside, ceased to feel the warmth from the sunlight streaming through the window, ceased to feel anything at all. He felt numb all over.

"What are you talking about?" he whispered finally.

Dumbledore's voice had now taken on a new sense of urgency, as though he was willing Harry to understand. "14 years ago, after Lord Voldemort murdered your parents, I decided to raise you here at Hogwarts. I thought it would be the best place for you, but I was wrong-"

"And you never thought to tell me this?" Harry interjected angrily, "Never once mentioned that I was your adopted son-"

"-Harry please understand-"

"-_Understand?" _Harry was aware he was yelling, but his anger was beyond control now,_ "_Understand that you've been lying to me all this time! Understand that you don't give a damn about me!"

"Harry, of course I do-"

"This isn't real," said Harry standing up suddenly, "this can't be happening."

He marched toward the door and turned the doorknob.

"Harry please" Dumbledore croaked out.

Harry turned to stare at the Headmaster who looked more broken than ever.

"I hate you" he snarled, seeing the blue eyes shimmer with tears, before turning around and walking out of the office.

The old man watched him go helplessly. "I know you do" he whispered into the empty office.

* * *

Harry walked daze-like through the empty corridors. Most of the students had finished breakfast, and were half way through the day's first lessons, but Harry had no inclination to join them. He felt strangely detached from his body as he walked through the school, as though he were watching himself from afar. It was only when he felt the cold wind slap across his cheeks, that he realised he was outside.

He made his way over to a grassy knoll by the lake and sat down. Looking over to the quidditch pitch, Harry saw Madam Hooch taking the flying lessons for a group of first years. A few students were looping around the goalposts adventurously. An hour ago he had been in their position. Now his entire world had been turned upside down.

* * *

The portraits in the headmaster's office were becoming increasingly concerned for the room's occupant. Dumbledore had not moved since Harry had walked out of the office, he had done nothing at all, except to stare blankly at the wall opposite his desk.

Armando Dippet looked down at his successor worriedly.

"Albus?" he asked gently, "Are you alright my dear fellow?"

Dumbledore gave a start as the voice broke through the silence that had descended upon the office.

"You don't look well Dumbledore" added Everard from his portrait on the left.

Without replying, Dumbledore rose slowly from his chair, and made his way to the corner of the office where a handsome mahogany cabinet stood holding a number of very expensive looking bottles.

He reached for the one furthest to the back, a tall brown bottle containing some of the strongest firewhiskey distributed at the Hog's Head. The contents were half empty he remembered, from the last time he had needed to numb the pain in his heart. That day had been about Harry too, and it seemed only apt that he should finish the rest now.

Pouring a healthy measure into a glass tumbler, Dumbledore regarded the smoking liquid for a moment, before bringing it to his lips, and downing the entire lot. He felt the warmth of the firewhiskey burning behind his sternum, and clutching the bottle, he made his way back to the desk.

Moving aside his ornately designed chair, the Headmaster placed a hand against the flat stone wall behind the desk. Immediately the stone began to ripple and disappear, leaving behind a smooth archway leading to another set of narrow revolving stairs.

Dumbledore let the stairs carry him towards his private chambers. He was barely aware of his surroundings as he made his way through the lounge and into his bedroom. It felt as though a blanket of darkness had been draped over him, and his normally sparkling blue eyes were dull with despair.

Sinking into a soft armchair facing the enormous floor length windows on the far side of the bedroom, the Headmaster brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and exhaled slowly.

Harry knew the truth.

Well, not quite the whole truth. The circumstances that had brought about his current living arrangements with the Dursleys had yet to be explained to him, but Dumbledore knew that it would be of little consolation to the young wizard. He had betrayed his son by not telling him about their relationship before now.

He had known all along that Harry would have to be told the truth when he came to Hogwarts, but when the time came, the Headmaster found himself making excuses to delay the inevitable conversation. _He was too young. He needed time to get to know the Headmaster._ Over the years, his excuses grew. _He needed to recover from another encounter with Tom. He needed to concentrate on his studies._ But he knew deep down inside that his excuses were nothing more than cowardice. A fear of the very reaction that Harry had displayed today. A fear that the boy would reject him, and destroy the tentative bond that they shared.

Albus Dumbledore had never been as disgusted with himself as he was in that moment. Sliding to the floor, he placed his head in his hands and began to weep.

* * *

Harry had lost count of how long he had been sitting outside, but having not heard the morning's bell, he assumed lessons hadn't finished yet. A particularly harsh gust of wind snapped him out of his reverie and he felt something trap between his legs. Looking down, he saw that the wind had blown a copy of the morning's Prophet across the lawn towards him.

The headline was staring up at him, and suddenly Harry couldn't breathe.

_This isn't real, it's just a bad dream _Harry kept repeating to himself.

He screwed up the paper into a ball and threw it with all his might into the lake, but try as he might, he could not get the headline out of his head.

"_...they were writing the truth."_

"No!" he screamed loudly, getting to his feet. He couldn't deal with it anymore. It was all around the castle, threatening to suffocate him. He had to get away.

Breathing heavily, Harry looked around. The main gates were locked as always, but to his left Harry saw the tall trees of the forbidden forest towering into the sky, their long branches shielding the dark alcoves within.

He ran.

* * *

The tall brown bottle was nearly empty on the floor beside Albus Dumbledore. If anyone had walked upon him in that moment, they would have barely recognised the half-drunken figure as the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts.

His normally pristine robes were crumpled from sitting on the floor, and the flowing silver hair was a dishevelled mess. Blearily, Dumbledore gazed down at the gold pendant that hung around his neck. It was one of his favourite possessions, in the shape of a small phoenix, and he had enchanted it many years ago as a means to warn him if Harry was in any danger.

Standing up, he took one final swig from the bottle, before collapsing unconscious onto the bed.

Around his neck, the pendant began to glow red.

* * *

The thorns and branches cut against his skin as Harry ran through the forest. He had no idea in which direction he was moving, and everything around him was enveloped in near darkness. Had he been in a more rational frame of mind, he would have thought to be more discreet in a forest notorious for its dangerous inhabitants. As it was, Harry found himself tearing through the undergrowth, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Once or twice, he thought he heard the sounds of footfall behind him, but the adrenaline pumping through his body propelled him onwards, and he did not stop to look around.

Eventually he came to a clearing in the forest, where a gap in the trees overhead allowed a sliver of light to shine through.

Thoroughly exhausted, Harry slid to the floor, and lay with his back resting against the bark of an old oak tree. He felt drained, both physically and mentally, and wanted nothing more than to lay here until he fell asleep, and forgot about everything that had happened.

A loud snap nearby brought Harry to his senses, and he sat up suddenly alert. His hand strayed towards the wand in his pocket, but before he could reach it, he felt the telling pressure of another wand being pressed to the back of his head.

"Don't even think about it boy, or I'll blow your brains out."

Harry tried to turn towards the man, but his attacker kept him facing forwards. Suddenly, people began to appear from the darkness in between the trees, and to his horror, Harry recognised the masked and cloaked figures of the Death Eaters.

"Well, well, well...Harry Potter" said one of them stepping forward. He was a tall, broad shouldered man, with dirty, matted hair.

"Or would you prefer Harry Dumbledore?" he asked, cocking his head to one side.

The Death Eaters around him roared with laughter as he leered menacingly towards Harry.

The sound of their laughter reverberated in the air, but Harry had picked up another sound amidst the din. Thunderous footsteps were making their way towards the clearing, and now the Death Eaters had heard it too.

"It's the Half-Giant!" said one of them, pointing a shaky finger to the direction the noise was coming from.

"Enough of this," said the tall man, whom Harry presumed to be in charge, "we need to get him back to the Dark Lord. Avery, Amycus, take him back to the manor, we'll deal with the Half-Breed."

Harry was hauled to his feet with his arms fastened behind him, but before they could do anything else, Hagrid burst into the clearing. For a split-second, nobody moved. Then suddenly the air was filled with beams of colour as the Death Eaters sent spells towards the Gamekeeper. Most of the spells bounced off him without any effect whatsoever, and with one sweep of his giant arm, he sent half of the group flying into the air.

Harry tried once more to reach for his wand, but Avery caught his movements and took the wand from him. The two Death Eaters then tried to force Harry to hold onto a portkey, but Harry jerked and twisted violently refusing to touch it.

The leader had so far remained behind the group fighting Hagrid, but now he stepped forward. Ducking under another sweep from Hagrid's arm, he aimed his wand, and sent a flash of blue towards the Half-giant. Hagrid let out a roar of pain, and fell to the floor.

"HAGRID!" cried Harry, trying to break free and run to towards the Gamekeeper, but the Death Eaters had regained control. He saw a flash of red streak towards him and tried to duck, but it was too late. The spell sent him hurtling towards the oak tree. With a sickening thud, he collided into the trunk, before everything turned black, and he saw no more.


	4. In The Depths Of Despair

Yikes, it's been a while hasn't it? Sorry about that. Anyway, here's the new chapter, it's more of a 'filler' than anything else, but hopefully you'll still enjoy.

* * *

Harry was floating in a sea of darkness. His limbs dangling effortlessly by his side as the gentle current carried him along into nothingness. There was no sound in this place, wherever he was, and no people as far as he could tell. He was alone, encased in the darkness, and he wanted to stay there forever.

Almost as soon as he thought this, everything began to change. His arms and legs started to become heavier, no longer floating effortlessly. The darkness around him was beginning to fade, and there were voices too. Indistinct sounds echoing around him, disturbing his peaceful bubble. He became aware of the throbbing pain in his head, as though someone had taken a large hammer and had attempted to break his skull with it.

With what felt like a monumental effort, Harry opened his eyes. For a moment the world swam in and out of focus, and Harry had a hard time making anything out. He discerned that he was in some sort of dungeon, judging by the rough stone floor he had been laid upon. It was a small room, about the size of his bedroom at the Dursleys, and the only light came from torch mounted on the wall, which cast a flickering orange glow about the place.

Sitting up gingerly, Harry saw in front of him a set of thick iron bars which separated his cell from the main corridor, and beyond it was another cell facing his own. He reached for the bars to pull himself up, but as his fingers closed in around the metal, he felt something akin to a surge of electricity pass through him, and fell to the floor with a cry of pain.

"Nice little feature that," came a voice from above him, "stops you doing anything stupid….like trying one of your little escape plans."

Harry looked up, his body jerking uncontrollably, and saw that it was the tall death eater from the forest. He smiled at Harry's glare.

"What, d-did you do Hag-grid?" said Harry between tremors.

"Oh don't worry, your half-breed friend is still alive…just. It seems as though he has a few allies in the forest, and they came to his aid before we could finish him off…pity really. But no matter, we have achieved what the Dark Lord set us out to do, and I shall be rewarded handsomely for my endeavors."

The sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor, and the tall man looked around as a second death eater clad in robes and a mask came into view.

"Jasper, the Dark Lord wants to see the boy upstairs."

The tall man, Jasper, smiled cruelly at Harry.

"Well then," he said opening the cell, "we'd better not keep him waiting."

* * *

Minerva McGonagall had been steadily working her way through the large mound of essays sitting on her desk, when something came zooming in through the window, knocking them all onto the floor. With a sigh of frustration, she levitated the papers back onto her desk, and looked around. Fluttering in the corner of her office was a small creature, which Minerva guessed to be a sprite or pixie. Unlike the disastrous lot that Gilderoy Lockhart had once set loose in his classroom, the Deputy Headmistress recognized that this particular creature was an inhabitant of the forbidden forest.

It continued to flutter by the door, obviously wanting her to follow, and with a deep sigh, she acquiesced. Minerva had to hurry to keep up with the creature who, buoyed by her compliance, had rocketed out of her office and down the corridor. It led her out of the castle, towards the edge of the forbidden forest where a group of centaurs had gathered.

The sprite landed on the shoulder of the largest centaur at the front of the group, and the two began conversing in a language the Professor didn't understand.

"Professor McGonagall," he said turning to her at last, "my name is Alaois. I had sent Gadrag here to summon Professor Dumbledore, but it appears he had no luck and brought you instead."

"And how may I be of assistance?" she asked cautiously.

Alaois gestured to two members of his group, who both turned and trotted into the darkness. After a few moments, they returned dragging something large on the floor between them, and with a gasp, Minerva recognized the bloodied body of Hagrid.

"Merlin! What happened to him?" she asked horrified, moving to kneel beside his semi-conscious form.

"A group of death eaters appeared in the forest a couple of hours ago. My clan had been watching them closely for any signs that they might try to attack the creatures of the forest, but they were waiting for a student from your school. It is not usually in our nature to interfere with human affairs, but a friend of Hagrid is a friend of ours, and so I sent word to him to come and help the boy. By the time he arrived it was too late, and all we could do was make sure that Hagrid wasn't harmed further."

"You said the student was a friend of Hagrid's," said the Deputy Headmistress, desperately hoping she had heard wrong, "do you know who it was?"

She knew what the answer would be even before he had said it, but that didn't stop the feeling of despair that consumed her when he responded.

"Harry Potter."

She closed her eyes briefly, and asked the next question, "Do you know where they took him?"

"I'm afraid I don't" he replied, somewhat remorsefully.

Her heart sank. She had been afraid that something like this would happen ever since that repugnant woman had published the whole story of Harry's adoption. Taking out her wand, she sent a patronus to Albus relaying what had happened.

A small moan from Hagrid finally set the transfiguration mistress into action. She stood up, and after thanking the centaurs, levitated the Gamekeeper and propelled him back towards the castle. As she walked through the entrance hall however, the bell rang for lunch, and hundreds of students began to pour out of their classrooms into the corridors. Reacting quickly, Minerva placed a concealment charm on Hagrid's body, and levitated him higher into the air to avoid the oncoming students. Many ghosts looked confused as Hagrid's solid but invisible form passed through them, and Minerva heard much giggling from the students around her, as she marched through the corridor, wand held aloft.

Only when she had reached the hospital wing, and had pulled the privacy screen around Hagrid's bed, did she remove the charm, calling the Matron as she did so. Madam Pomfrey, after getting over her initial shock at seeing Hagrid in such a state, set about to business healing the deep cuts and wounds with her wand, whilst administering a variety of potions to the half-giant.

Confident that Hagrid was in good hands, the Deputy Headmistress left the hospital wing, and made her way to the Headmaster's office. She wondered what her friend was going through right now. Minerva had been one of the few people who had known about the adoption from the beginning. In fact, it was because of her part in Harry's upbringing, that the world had never known the small boy who had once lived at Hogwarts had been Harry Potter. She had helped disguise his identity using her own family name, and along with the powerful enchantments Albus had placed upon him, nobody had ever been able to piece together the truth. Until now.

She rounded the corner, and to her utmost surprise found that a small queue of students had formed outside the stone gargoyle.

"What on earth is going on here?" she asked them.

"We're waiting to see the Headmaster," said a small boy whom Minerva recognized as a second year Hufflepuff, "but this thing won't let us pass" he added, jerking his thumb at the gargoyle.

"I need to get a form signed by him Professor-" chimed in another student.

"I was here first-" came the voice of a third student.

"No you weren't!" replied the Hufflepuff.

"Yes I was!"

"No you-"

"Enough!" ordered the Deputy Headmistress, "The Headmaster is currently very busy so I suggest that you all go to lunch. If any of your queries are urgent, leave a note on my desk, and I will see to it that they are sorted out as soon as I have finished speaking with him."

Muttering under their breath, the students trouped back towards the great hall, leaving the professor to direct a glare at the stone gargoyle. It immediately sprang aside, allowing her to step onto the revolving stairs towards the Headmaster's abode. Knocking gently on the heavy oak door, she pushed it open only to find the room empty.

"Albus?" she called out quietly.

There was no response. Moving further into the room, Minerva looked around hoping to find some clue as to where her employer might be, when a voice spoke to her from above.

"You'll not find him here Professor, he's in a bad way."

Looking up, she saw it was the portrait of Everard talking.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Dumbledore spoke to the boy, Potter, and things didn't exactly go so well. I believe he is upstairs drowning his sorrows as we speak."

Concern for her friend doubling, Minerva made her way over to where she knew Dumbledore's quarters were hidden. Much like the Headmaster, the transfiguration professor's position as Deputy Headmistress was recognised by the castle itself, and as she pressed her palm against the stone wall, it melted away, allowing her entrance into the Headmaster's chamber of residence.

She stepped into the living area, a beautiful, circular room, imitating the Headmaster's main office. Much of the space was taken up by large, squashy armchairs that surrounded an enormous fireplace, and set low between them, a beautifully carved wooden table supported an elaborate chess set complete with emerald pieces. The wall on one side of the curved room was taken up by a large bookcase filled with part of the Headmaster's seemingly infinite collection of reading material.

Despite her right to be there, Minerva still felt uneasy about being in the Dumbledore's private quarters without his permission. Creeping quietly through the living room, she looked around, before noticing that the door to the bedroom was ajar.

"Albus?" she called out once more, knocking on the door.

Once again, there was no answer.

Hesitantly pushing the door open, she stepped inside, and it took a moment for the professor to register the scene in front of her.

Albus Dumbledore, respected Headmaster of Hogwarts, lay in a collapsed heap across his bed. The half moon glasses were skewed beneath the strands of silver hair that were covering his face. In one hand he clutched an empty bottle of firewhiskey, and for a moment, Minerva had to wonder whether she was dreaming. Not in 60 years of knowing him, had she ever seen her friend in such a state.

Her senses soon came back to her, and she rushed to his side, grabbing fistfuls of his purple robe, and began shaking him in earnest.

"Albus! Wake up!"

The Headmaster did not respond, his head lolling to each side as she continued to shake him. Minerva pulled out her wand and pointed it at his chest.

"Enervate"

Dumbledore woke with a start, his blue eyes flying open. It took a moment for him to gain his bearings, and his eyes darted around the room before finally landing on Minerva.

"What has happened?" he asked immediately, seeing the worried expression in his Deputy's eyes.

Minerva tried to compose herself, knowing she was about to deliver to worst news imaginable to her friend.

"They have him Albus," she said, and despite her best efforts, her voice shook with emotion, "the Death Eaters….. they've taken Harry."

Dumbledore gazed at her for a moment, as though not quite believing what she had just said. But his shock was brief, and in a flash he was on his feet, sweeping past her towards his office.

With a wave of his hand, his hair and robes regained their usual dignified appearance, and as he made his way across the living room and down the stairs to his office, he called out over his shoulder.

"Summon every available Order member to Headquarters. Join us as soon as classes are over, but do not speak of this to anyone just yet…Not even Mr Weasley or Miss Granger-"

"Albus….."

He stopped mid-sentence and turned to stare at her. Minerva wasn't exactly sure what she had planned to say, but looking into those blue eyes, she could see the father in him trying desperately to remain strong, and wanted more than anything to offer some kind of support.

"We'll find him Albus…he's a strong boy, everything will be fine."

For a moment a powerful emotion played across his face, one she couldn't discern, but as always it was quickly shielded and his face became impassive once more.

"As I said," he continued, turning away as though uninterrupted, "do not speak of this to anyone. I will see you at Headquarters."

He opened the office door for her, signalling an end to the conversation, and recognising defeat, she clasped his shoulder briefly before taking her leave.

Closing the door behind her, Dumbledore moved to the window by his desk, and gazed towards the forest where, not so long ago, Harry had been taken from him.

"Hold on my boy," he said, blue eyes blazing determinedly, "I'm coming for you."

* * *

I understand that the events of Harry's childhood are somewhat vague at the moment, which may be difficult to follow, but just go with me for the time being ; )

As always, I appreciate your feedback!


	5. Chapter 5 Teaser

So basically, this has been on my computer for ages (along with other bits and pieces from the story) and I thought posting might give me the motivation to get back into the writing groove! Let me know what you think so far!

* * *

The walls of the dungeon had been constructed using one thousand four hundred and twenty seven flat stones.

Harry had counted each and every one of them ingrained into the dull, grey cement. He had counted the thick metal bars that separated his cell from the corridor beyond, the number of brackets that held torches along the walls. He had counted until he had nothing left to count, not because he particularly liked the architectural make up of things, but because unless his mind was occupied, the sheer physical pain he was trying so desperately hard to ignore, would return with a force that would be too excruciating to bear.

Harry had forgotten just how much the cruciatus curse hurt. The brief memory of it being inflicted upon him following the triwizard tournament had seemed largely inconsequential following the events of Cedric's death and the aftermath of that night. But now having being subject to it with no such reprieves, Harry appreciated just why wizards had deemed its use as a crime that could not be forgiven.

Lord Voldemort had been a welcoming host indeed.

Following their orders, Harry's captors had marched him blindfolded along corridors and up staircases until at last, having lost all sense of direction, he had been thrown unceremoniously into an enormous circular chamber supported by large stone pillars, where his adversary had sat waiting in a high backed chair.

The Dark Lord had been unusually short on words, perhaps aware that his past theatrics had, on more than one occasion, allowed Harry a means to escape, and had instead proceeded to dispatch a series of cruciatus curses, leaving Harry screaming on the floor, barely able to breathe.

Despite his suffering, Harry tried to remain focused, ready to defend himself at any moment against the sickly green light that had, for so long, plagued his nightmares, but to his great surprise it never came. It seemed as though, after years of futile attempts on Harry's life, Lord Voldemort was willing to prolong the Gryffindor's suffering for as long as he could.

With almost casual flicks of his wand, the Dark Lord had continued his ruthless onslaught until at last, when Harry was on the verge of passing out from the pain, he had signaled to Jasper to return the captive back to his cell.

That encounter had been some hours ago now, and as he lay on the floor of his cell, Harry wondered just how long it would be before he found himself in front of his nemesis once more. The Dark Lord obviously had far more to his arsenal than just the cruciatus curse, and as much as he hated to admit it, Harry wasn't sure just how much longer he would be able to last without a wand to defend himself.

With great difficulty, the Gryffindor managed to raise himself up to sit against the stone wall and gazed at the ceiling overhead.

This place, wherever he was, was a fortress. The time it had taken to walk from his cell to meet with Lord Voldemort, had been enough to confirm that. But anything more about his current residence was unknown to him. His captors had been particularly careful not to gift him with any knowledge of his whereabouts by covering his sight when they moved him through the building.

Lord Voldemort was taking no chances. The place had been fortified with various anti-escape measures, as Harry had earlier the misfortune of experiencing, and though he had not seen any of them, Harry was also certain that a number of Death Eaters had taken up residence in the building. He had heard the muffled sound of conversation and raucous laughter drifting down from the ceiling overhead, and the frequent patter of footsteps moving past the door at the end of his corridor.

Harry knew that any real chance of escape was slim, and the more days that passed having to endure Lord Voldemort's frenzied attacks, the weaker he would become. He clinged to the hope that a stroke of good fortune, something that had so often saved him in the past, would present him with an opportunity to escape. But when that would come, and in what form, only time would tell.

Shivering slightly, Harry wrapped his jacket more tightly around his shoulders. The dungeon was well below freezing in temperature, and as the cold began to seep into his bones, the young wizard found himself yearning more than ever to be curled up on a sofa by the roaring fireplace in Gryffindor tower.

Thoughts of Hogwarts inevitably lead to thoughts of his Headmaster. In all that had unfolded in the past few hours, Harry had barely had time to reflect on the conversation with Dumbledore. If he were honest with himself, he had tried very hard not to think about the man at all. But now, laying in the dungeon with nothing but the pain to distract him, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Dumbledore had been alerted to his absence yet. Whether or not he would be able to discover where he, Harry, had been taken. Whether he even cared. For as much as the Headmaster had insisted that he did care, he had chosen not to tell Harry about the relationship that they had once shared, and that had hurt Harry more than anything else. As much as he despised himself for wanting to see Dumbledore again, Harry had no doubt that the only person who had any real chance of breaching Lord Voldemort's stronghold was the Hogwarts Headmaster himself.

As the day's events finally began to catch up with Harry, he closed his eyes and let his head fall sideways against the rough stone wall. Drifting off to sleep, his last thought was to contemplate how ironic it was that a man he was so angry with, was the one man he would give anything to see again.


End file.
